The Adventures of Daring
by AntiFiction
Summary: "You're listening to the adventures of me, Herbert Daring Dashwood, and my stalwart ghoul manservant, Argyle!" This is my personal take on the numerous adventures of the unlikely pair, who have a knack for getting themselves into adventure (and trouble), all for the sake of some good old Wasteland exploration. Be sure to tune in next time!
1. Seductive Stranger

**Introductory Author's Note:** I've been on a Fallout kick lately. That game is so rich with Easter eggs, references, inside jokes, and randomized events that it feels like you're constructing your own story with the freedom to go wherever you want, whenever you want. It is a really unique gaming experience, and I've never played anything like it. (I've never played The Elder Scrolls games, which I know are also open-world games.) A particular tidbit I really enjoyed were the Adventures of Herbert Daring Dashwood and his Stalwart Ghoul Manservant Argyle. Compared to the crap they put on television nowadays, their episodes were really well-written and classy. I would pay money to have them continue it. Sadly, it's only five consecutive episodes of awesomeness. In the spirit of those episodes, I decided to try out a series involving these two characters. It may get a little hectic, and a little out of character, but that's the fun of it since we don't really know very much about them. Enjoy the adventures!

**Disclaimer:** The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

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**Chapter 1:**  
Seductive Stranger

* * *

The Wasteland was brilliantly lit aglow with festive eruptions of miniscule nuclear bombs. Post-apocalyptic existence was not necessarily a life of celebration, but tonight, it was the anniversary of the end of the world. The annual marker that designated the exact date, although the exact time remained unknown, that the bombs fell and ended modern human civilization. Although many individuals chose to perceive this odd national holiday in a somber fashion, there was a vibrant and optimistic minority that cherished the new fallen world. Their loud festivities caused the cloudy night sky to glow with mystical, toxic fumes. Despite only a minority of folk observing this national holiday, explosions were heard all throughout the Wasteland, as far as human settlement reached, and even in the wilderness, where a few wanderers lurked.

What a rare sight, the atmosphere burning up in the haze of superheated radioactive gases. Such a special occasion allowed the perfection conditions for a first-time date. After three months of anticipation, Argyle finally asked his girlfriend out to spend the night watching the atomic fireworks at The Overlook Drive-In. It was never dangerous on this night in particular, since Raiders took advantage of this holiday by secretly bombarding homes while the owners were preoccupied outside, igniting the air. Sure enough, it would be a calm and unproblematic evening. As soon as the sun set, the pair departed into the Wastes, arriving at the scenic drive-in after merely a few hours' journey.

All cars were non-functional, so they resorted to climbing onto the car's roof to watch the spectacle. Argyle lied down, staring up at the endlessly foggy night sky, and his girlfriend, Ronnie, lied beside him with her balding head resting gently against his shoulder. Perhaps with the most ironic timing ever, the bombs shot high into the sky, erupting into colorful bursts of lethal radioactivity. The ghoul couple, immune to radiation, would not suffer ill effects from this event, unlike the foolish human residents who would participate and suffer from radiation burns for the rest of the night. They were silent for the first two hours, until finally Argyle worked up the courage to have a romantic conversation.

"You're as pretty as the soft green glow of uranium." Argyle cooed, delicately brushing his bony fingers against Ronnie's skull. She smiled gently, leaning into him closer, with her tiny skeletal hands tucked above her heart. "You're the floating ember of destiny, emitting light into the darkness, and because of you, now I see..." He said in a deep, soothing voice, cradling her in his firm arms.

"Argyle, you're so charming..." She whispered into the side of his skull, where his ear once was. "I think that this something really special. I wonder if any two people in the Wastes are as happy as we are..." She said softly, now placing her small hands atop his thick chest. She could now hear the faint rhythm of his heartbeat, so tranquil that it almost drifted her into dreamland.

"INCOMIIIIIIING!" An abrupt yell distracted the pair, both of them turning their heads to see someone bolting towards them. In a panicked and protective instinct, Argyle reacted very quickly. He held tightly onto Ronnie, and threw her off of the car, standing up in a defensive and tactical position to defend himself, and indirectly her as well. To his surprise, before he could throw a single punch, the silhouette had mercilessly tackled him off the vehicle, causing them to both land rather violently onto the pavement. It didn't help that the man landed on top of Argyle, so he broke his fall, with injurious consequences. The man was seemingly unharmed, but Argyle couldn't breathe momentarily.

Argyle coughed up blood, "The hell's wrong with you?" He exclaimed, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood of his mouth.

"Pardon, my unacquainted stranger." The cloaked man said, standing to his feet. "I am terribly sorry about interrupting, but this looks like a job for me... Herbert Daring Dashwood!" That nice top hat concealed his face, and the trench-coat he wore decided to drape heroically in the wind the moment he acclaimed his name.

...

Before resorting to questions about the dorky name, Argyle yelled, "What job!?"

"This job, my dear sir." Dashwood pointed out to the distance, revealing three galloping shadows fiercely running towards them. "The job in which I save you and the lady from the horrifying cannibalistic Raiders! Stand back, things are about to get dirty!" With that, the self-proclaimed Herbert Daring Dashwood took off at a frightening pace, storming towards the armed band of hooligans.

Argyle stared blankly. A small coughing sound averted his attention, and he had a sudden panicked concern for the safety of Ronnie. "Baby, you okay?" Argyle called out to the small ghoul on the ground. She hadn't moved since he had thrown her - oops, he probably shouldn't have done that, considering how frail she looked. However, he had thrown her, so that she would be further from the explosion, if the man decided to shoot at the car.

"I'm fine." Ronnie finally coughed, hacking up blood herself. Accursed ghoul anatomy was unfortunately fragile, due to relentless aging and persistent health problems. Her gasps sounded strained and forced, "You were trying to save me. Thank you..." Thank god that she was the forgiving type.

"Stay still, baby, I'm coming." Argyle assured her, staggering to his knees, trying to get himself upright despite taking that nasty fall. "I'll be over there, I just need to do something really quick. I gotta take care of these Raiders first."

"Raiders?" She said weakly. "You said there would be no Raiders here..."

"Looks like they followed this damned fool straight to us." Argyle grimaced, pointing angrily to the man, who was currently getting a beat-down by a wily Raider wielding a combat knife. "Doesn't look like he can solve his own problems, so... I'll be right back. I'm sorry, baby!" He said, picking up his pace, from a slow walk to a limped run. As he regained feeling to his legs, his gaze sharpened, and his eyes were more accustomed to the darkness, after being partially blinded from the nighttime show.

"Yeah, tear him apart!" The last remaining Raider cried gleefully, stabbing the living wits out of Dashwood. She seemed to be enjoying her hack job, especially since Dashwood was no longer putting up a fight. What an easy kill!

"I'm sorry, it's just that I..." Dashwood tried saying in-between repeated stabs to the abdomen. "I... I prefer to not tarnish a women's face... especially not a pretty woman." A single tear streaked down his face. Suddenly, with a swift jab movement, the Raider's head exploded, causing bits of blood and brains to rain down all over Dashwood. He let out a high-pitched scream of horror, staring with trauma at the gruesome remains of the attractive Raider.

"Thanks for attempting to save my life." Argyle said somewhat ungratefully, because he was more pissed that his perfect date had been ruined. He held out his hand to help Dashwood up, "Now I've repaid my debt by legitimately saving yours." Dashwood had the most pitiful puppy-dog frown, a blend of trauma and guilt, witnessing the gory death of a pretty female. He didn't take Argyle's hand. He just stared, on the verge of tears, and it was only in that moment that Argyle had a good look at his face. "Huh, don't you look different?" Argyle said aloud, analyzing this Herbert's facial features, particularly his pronounced and unshaven beard. "Herbert was your name?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dashwood blinked several times in a row, dwindling on the edge of being offended. "Herbert? HERBERT?" He quickly stood up, staring Argyle right in the eye, mostly because they were both about the same height. "Herbert. Daring. Dashwood." He pronounced each part of his name audibly and clearly.

"Jeez, sorry." Argyle half-heartedly apologized, putting his hands up.

Suddenly, Dashwood was running past him. Argyle turned around in confusion - this unpredictable fellow seemed to love spontaneity. Argyle glanced in the direction that he was running to, and it was to the small ghoul on the ground. It suddenly occurred to him that Dashwood was actually genuinely concerned about Ronnie. Argyle knew she was fine, or at least she said she was - he would definitely trust her word above all else. He paced back to her at a snail crawl, because he wasn't used to the rough action he just partook in, so his heart was pounding very loud in his ears. His chest hurt from the adrenaline rush, and a clasped bony hand rested over it, as if it was trying to keep his heart inside his ribcage. "I'm sorry about all this, Ronnie..." Argyle panted. "Baby, I'm coming..."

He glanced up, and he saw Dashwood helping Ronnie to her feet. She was staggering, but he was allowing her to bear her weight on him, in order to regain her balance. "Everything's going to be okay..." Argyle breathed in a raspy tone, "I'm here..." From the corner of his eye, he saw Dashwood engaged in a conversation with his girlfriend. Dashwood seemed to be genuinely caring, examining her freshly made scratches, and gently holding her bruised arms. He seemed to be getting a bit close to Ronnie, which Argyle passively dismissed... that is until he kissed her. Wait, WHAT?

At that point, Argyle had stopped in his tracks. He stared in confusion, his jaw hung open, and he was pleading that his eyes were playing tricks on him. Oh no, unfortunately, they weren't. Ronnie threw her arms around Dashwood's shoulders, pulling herself closer to him, her leg lifting up in ecstasy. A spark of jealousy ignited in Argyle's heart. Not even _he_ had a first kiss with her. Damn it! "DASHWOOD!" Argyle cried with a broken heart.

* * *

**Author's Note:** That's my playful take on the first time that Herbert Daring Dashwood and Argyle met. I got inspiration for this, because Herbert Daring Dashwood himself, in the game, said that he met Argyle by accidentally stealing his girlfriend. From that point, they were best friends ever since. However, to amp up the drama, I left it with this cliffhanger, to show how the friendship budded out of this heartbreaking incident. (Wouldn't you be heartbroken if Dashwood stole your girlfriend?) I may tinker around with the chapters, but I'll definitely update if I make a major improvement. Thanks for the read! More chapters to come.


	2. Unlikely Union

**Introductory Author's Note:** A brief warning - I will be ending most, if not all, chapters with cliffhangers. I apologize if this series goes into a lengthy hiatus. I don't plan for it to happen anytime soon, since I'm stocked with ideas. I've been planning this story for about two months, so I should be pumping out chapters every day or every other day for now. Enjoy the adventures!

**Disclaimer:** The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

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**Chapter 2:  
**Unlikely Union

When dawn broke across the desolate landscape of the wastes, Argyle knew he was going to be in a foul mood all day. Due to the romantic interlude and immaculate presentation by Herbert Daring Dashwood, he had succeeded in captivating the heart of dreamy Ronnie, who giggled and cuddled with him all night on top of the car. Meanwhile, Argyle resorted to sleeping on the cold hard pavement, and he hated how much his left side hurt when he awoke. He stretched out, his bones and muscles tense from staying the same resting position for far too long. Even when he regained consciousness, those two were still flirtatiously mingling with each other.

"Dear God!" Dashwood finally cried something other than flattering remarks. "You're a ghoul!"

"You couldn't tell by the rotting flesh and groggy voice?" Ronnie innocently asked.

"Oh my, no." Dashwood said bashfully. "It was so dark, I couldn't see a thing!"

"Hey, you gonna dump her now that you know she's a ghoul?" Argyle fumed, glaring evilly at the supposed perfect couple, especially at the man who stole his former girlfriend.

"Dear God!" Dashwood exclaimed again, giving an aghast expression at Argyle's face. "You're a ghoul too!?"

"No." Argyle said sarcastically.

"I suppose that even the best mistakes are made in the dark." Dashwood joked, although neither of the ghouls laughed. Ronnie stared, perhaps in anticipation of rejection, especially by the look of horror Dashwood had on his face the moment he realized that she didn't actually have a face. Instead, he maintained the compassion he previously displayed, although his tone was generously more sympathetic. Dashwood chuckled nervously, "Madame, I'm sorry that you are in this state, and I dearly wish there was a cure for radiation poisoning." He said, gulping, because he had never interacted, let alone became intimately connected, with a real-life ghoul before.

"Thank you, your words are very kind." Ronnie said quietly, glancing over at Argyle with an indifferent stare. "You really know how to treat a lady." That statement seemed like an indirect stab in the back, particularly at Argyle. He really didn't appreciate that, and he bowed his head in shame - why did he throw her off a car, again?

"I'm sick of this." Argyle was finally fed up. He stood upright, took a rock, and threw it at a rubber tire. It clanked loudly, getting Dashwood's attention. "Look, man, I don't care who you are, but you ruined my only chances with her. You've ruined my life!"

"Easy there." Dashwood said, putting his hands up, and stepping down from the car. Now he was directly facing Argyle, who was giving a blank and menacing glare, and if looks could kill, Dashwood would be a puddle of blood on the cement. "I had no intention of courting the young miss." Dashwood tried clarifying the situation, which in all reality was making him dig his own grave. "We simply hit it off because of our spectacular chemistry."

"Shut up!" Argyle hissed, almost in a feral-like manner, slowly approaching closer. He was crouching, almost like an animal, prepared to unleash its full wrath upon its prey. His beady eyes bored into Dashwood's expression, angry and sorrowful. "I don't know what exactly happened between you two, but she's mine and I'm willing to fight for her."

"Yeah, no." Ronnie said, hopping off the car. "You two are charming, but... I'm sorry, I have better things to do." She said as politely as she could, although she still came off as rude. "Good-bye." She said sheepishly, running downhill and out of sight. The two men blankly stared at her until she was barely visible across the scorched sages and natural wasteland haze.

"... I'm sorry, what were we fighting about?" Argyle asked, nervously scratching the back of his head.

"Without the woman, we don't really have much of a quarrel, do we?" Dashwood asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I guess we really don't. Well, damn." Argyle said in amazement. "All that fighting over some broad?"

"I'm terribly sorry about that huge mess." Dashwood still apologized, holding out his hands, and giving Argyle the eager two-handed handshake. "I would never steal somebody's girlfriend, but by her mannerisms, she appeared to be single."

"Seems like I was never important to her after all." Argyle sighed in disappointment. "Oh well, that's history. I'm never dating again."

"Don't be dismayed!" Dashwood proclaimed. "I am Herbert Daring Dashwood, and I will find you the perfect woman even if it means scouring the entire Wasteland, from East Coast to West!"

"Oh, please..." Argyle groggily exhaled. "Don't."

By the time the mid-morning sun blared down at the Wasteland, the unlikely pair found themselves aimlessly wandering west in order to seek shelter from the forbidding heat. They trudged along prickly weeds and green-yellow bushes, thick with radioactive ashes from last night's celebration. Dashwood led the way, pushing forward with a confident stride and his head held high. Argyle followed his footsteps, hanging his head and crossing his arms. He was clearly still not over his recent girlfriend, and couldn't believe that his first date happened to also be his last. Such was life in the wastes.

"Alas, I have found shade!" Dashwood announced, holding his arms up and beholding a massive cliffside.

"Gee, this looks like Raider territory." Argyle said apprehensively, glancing at the barbed wire tattered along the ground, and the obvious hanging blood-soaked corpses overhead.

"You worry too much, my benevolent acquaintance!" Dashwood exclaimed. "However, we have obtained shade, and we should be proud of our discovery."

"Day or night, Raiders stalk outposts like this." Argyle shivered. "Are you new to the Wasteland or something?"

"Hardly so!" Dashwood said. "Perhaps just a little. I've seen the wastes my whole life... from an eighteenth story window atop the luxurious Tenpenny Tower."

"God help me." Argyle buried his face into his palm.

"Nevertheless, this shade should be able to protect us from cosmic rays for the duration of today's daylight!" Dashwood beamed. "Or perhaps we could explore this cave should boredom get the best of us."

"I hope you're not easy bored, because I sure ain't." Argyle crossed his arms, and leaned against a giant boulder. His side stung from last night's terrible sleep. He cringed briefly, but he masked it with the most apathetic expression he could muster.

"I'm bored - onwards to the next adventure!" Dashwood shouted, kicking in the door, and entering one of the most dangerous Raider outposts, Cliffside Cavern. Argyle swore under his breath as the unruly adventurer rampaged into the hazardous cave, which was infested to the brim with malicious Raiders. Now that he had more background on the man, he knew for a fact he wouldn't survive this ambush. He was too pampered and naive from his upbringing at Tenpenny. Without giving it much thought as to whether or not he liked this Dashwood person very much, Argyle stormed into Cliffside Cavern to rescue him.

Dashwood was engaged in a ruthless battle, between Raiders stocked with heavy weapons, while he wielded only a makeshift sword. A melee weapon isn't very effective against mini-guns and missile launchers - Argyle knew this. Battered and bruised from taking multiple bullets and missiles to the face, Dashwood found himself weakening and shifting backward. "Hold on, let me catch my breath..." He panted.

"Fresh meat!" A Raider cried out happily, upon seeing how defeated he looked.

"Chop, chop!" Argyle replied, swinging past Dashwood, and using his bare fists to break the necks of two Raiders. His flattened hands served as sharp knives, during any brawl. Seeing his unarmed skills, the heavy weapons Raiders pointed their projectiles at him. However, they weren't prepared for Argyle's astounding dodges and crippling punches. He barely seemed to be doing any effort, either. So easily, he was decapitating, amputating, maiming, and crippling any Raider that dared to get within his reach.

"The ghoul's crazy!" A Raider called out. "Fall back if you don't want to die!"

With that, the remaining Raiders scattered deep into the caves, and the surroundings fell silent again. "They'll be back." Argyle folded his arms, and peered into the damp cave network ahead of them.

"Good golly..." Dashwood stared, with an expression of eternal gratitude. "You saved my life..."

"Yeah, don't mention it." Argyle scratched the back of his neck. "All in a day's work."

"I am extremely impressed with your martial arts." Dashwood said, jabbing a Stimpak into his arm to regain the health he lost during the Raider battle. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Throughout my navigation in the wastes." Argyle casually lied. He casually reached into his left pocket and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. He delicately tasted the cigarette as it rolled onto his tongue, and he lit it with his handy lighter. He took a deep inhale, and puffed out a blanket of round smoke.

"Listen, I know we just met, and this will probably be a difficult decision." Dashwood explained. "Would you like to be my manservant?"

"Beg pardon?" Argyle's eyebrow rose, shifting the cigarette between his teeth. "Just because I'm a ghoul, you think I'm a slave?"

"No, you're not a slave, but you are socially underprivileged." Dashwood stated bluntly. "Face it. Outside of ghoul-only cities, what chances do you have surviving, especially against humans without mutations of any kind?"

Argyle bowed his head. "Look. I appreciate your concern for me, but I'm not going to sell myself into slavery."

"You are _not _a slave." Dashwood emphasized. "You can choose to follow me out of your own free will. Following me means gaining privileges amongst human settlements, increasing the likelihood that you won't be shot at for wandering the Wasteland."

Argyle's eyebrows raised. "Well, crap! You're right." He thoughtfully stroked his chin, still playing with the cigarette in his mouth. "I haven't been able to freely travel for a century because of how tight the situation's got in D.C. In that case, eh..." Argyle stared deeply and thoughtfully into Dashwood's innocent and well-intended expression. "Okay, I'll do it, under very particular conditions."

"Under your terms?" Dashwood asked. "Is that how servitude works?"

"Hey, servitude under my own free will." Argyle stressed. "Listen, I'll follow you if, and only _if_, you give me my space. If I don't want to answer a question, I reserve the right to not answer it. Let me keep my thoughts to myself. Also, I won't do something that compromises my beliefs, and above all else, I will not do dates. If you respect all that, I'll take care of you."

"Deal!" Dashwood quickly agreed. "By golly, I've got a ghoul manservant!"

"Please don't call me that just yet, it's too early." Argyle groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose - or what was left of it.

"My apologies, dear chum." Dashwood said. "Say! I don't believe I've ever asked for your name."

"It's Argyle." He said, stomping out his cigarette.

"That's all?" Dashwood asked.

"You were expecting more?" Argyle asked.

"I suppose simple can be tasteful." Dashwood pondered.

"Take it or leave it." Argyle shrugged.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm certain that I covered the introduction of Herbert Daring Dashwood and Argyle. They're supposed to be rather informal and indifferent to each other at first, since they are just acquaintances, after all. However, the friendship is already budding in its own odd way, and soon, they'll be taking out to the Wasteland and having adventures. Despite the heartbreak Argyle has experienced, he's willing to give redemption to the currently clueless Dashwood. Thanks for the read! Stay tuned for the next episode.


	3. Wounded Wastes

**Introductory Author's Note:** I'm somewhat satisfying with the introduction I made. I may revise it in the future, and I'll make a note of it when I'm going to revamp the story, if I ever do. I'm going to go on with this for about ten chapters, and by then, I'll know whether or not to revise. For now, it would be helpful to review and let me know if what I'm doing is pretty good, or if I have something I need to improve. Feedback of any kind would be appreciated.

**Disclaimer:** The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

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**Chapter 3:**  
Wounded Wastes

"I'm telling you, this is a horrible idea." Argyle chimed, wearily following Dashwood's footsteps across the expansive Wasteland. There wasn't anything too out-of-the-ordinary about two wanderers traveling from point A to point B, but they were headed west, towards the looming Tenpenny Tower. It stood as a majestic beacon in the distance, a pinnacle of human engineering and tasteful architecture. Under Dashwood's directions, Argyle found himself following him back "home", where the sophisticated folk took residence.

"Nonsense, my dear Argyle." Dashwood spoke, waving a hand around as if elegantly dismissing Argyle's worries. "Once we gather sufficient supplies, we should set out, and find adventure out in the Wasteland."

"You didn't think about gathering supplies before you took out for adventure?" Argyle groaned, recalling the Raider incidents back at The Overlook Drive-In, and at the Cliffside Cavern.

"I wasn't planning to permanently leave just yet." Dashwood explained, turning around to face Argyle, however hard it was to examine his deteriorated face. "I was merely scoping out the environment around my home, getting a taste of what it's like to actually be out there."

Argyle thought to himself about the entire situation. From what he pieced together, Dashwood was a spontaneous fellow, who seemed to think his actions were heroic even if they were chaotic. Dashwood burst into the scene, leading Raiders right to Argyle, and then claiming to save him from them, despite being in grave danger himself. What kind of noble adventurer did that? He did seem to lack expertise entirely.

"So you weren't kidding me?" Argyle asked, lifting his head and looking up at Dashwood, whose back was faced to him. "You've literally never been outside in the Wasteland before?"

"I've never been outside, no." Dashwood admitted. "I also wasn't kidding when I said that I've watched the Wasteland my whole life from above. From there." Dashwood pointed specifically to a particular window on Tenpenny Tower. He seemed to be nostalgic, because his expression and entire demeanor changed. Vivid memories seemed to be playing in the back of his mind, especially by his stance and slowed pace.

"So why did you travel yesterday night in particular?" Argyle asked, folding his arms. "Was it because of the holiday?"

"Precisely!" Dashwood explained. "Normally it's too dark to travel at night, but the bombs were capable of illuminating my path."

"Since it's too dark to see, why didn't you travel during the day anyway?" Argyle asked.

"From my observations, I know for a fact that it's too dangerous to travel in daylight." Dashwood said with a thoughtful gesture. "Too much marauding, pillaging, and robbing occurs where there are witnesses. At night, the darkness forbids crime to take place."

Argyle stared blankly. "Perhaps that's only true of Tenpenny, because I've witnessed plenty of this marauding, pillaging, and robbing at night."

Dashwood fell silent after that. He seemed to be thinking deeply. Perhaps he rationed how irresponsible it was to dart out into the Wasteland at any given time. Maybe he was thinking about his family, that is, if he had any. Maybe he had no regard for life, which seemed to be the case, because his rash actions were detrimental to living. This illogical puzzle didn't seem to be making sense, especially not to Argyle. As opposed to Dashwood, who seemed to long for the troubles that adventure brought, Argyle sought a peaceful and permanent place of belonging - one he probably would never find. The remainder of their trek to Tenpenny Tower was speechless, with Dashwood slowly leading the way, and Argyle following behind him.

Suddenly, Argyle turned in a particular direction, and spoke in a loud whisper. "Get down!" He pushed Dashwood to the floor, causing him to fall awkwardly on his face and arms. However, before Dashwood could retaliate, he saw that Argyle's eyes were locked on to a threatening figure. It was a Radscorpion, stalking them in the shades of the burned sagebrush. Only its stinger was seen hovering above the vegetation. It had been clicking its claws in anticipation, with multiple eyes observing them, and its eight legs scrambling loudly on the ground.

Argyle bolted towards the Radscorpion, and the second it noticed the movement, it aggressively struck out with its stinger. It completely missed, due to Argyle's rapid dodging skills. Suddenly, with one swoop of an arm, the stinger flew several yards away. The Radscorpion collapsed, dying from blood loss. As an act of mercy, Argyle bashed its thorax in to spare it the pain of bleeding out. "There." Argyle said quietly.

"That poor creature!" Dashwood exclaimed. "Did you have to kill it?" This strange man seemed to be torn as to whether or not he valued life. To Argyle, it seemed that he thoughtlessly threw away his own life, but desperately valued the lives of others. This abnormal altruistic behavior would get him killed instantly, had he been entirely alone in the Wasteland.

Argyle sighed and pointed to the stinger in the distance. "See that pouch? Had that thing poked you, you would've been turning purple from toxic shock." Argyle described gruesomely, just to induce a deep-rooted phobia into Dashwood, so that he would cautiously deal with these over-sized arthropods. "Its sting is very painful, and it doesn't leave you alone, it hunts you. After enough venom is in your blood, you'll asphyxiate and die after an instant blood infection."

Dashwood was cringing from the vivid explanation. "Dear God, you make it sound as if you've witnessed it."

"I have." Argyle said plainly, although he had an apathetic expression as he spoke, probably to conceal the true emotional trauma that he experienced from witnessing that incident. "Now please tell me, Dashwood, do you value the creature's life or your own more?"

"That's _Daring_ Dashwood." He reminded - Herbert alone or Dashwood alone wouldn't do, his name had to be _Daring_. "Obviously I value my life, but I just feel so bad to take another's life..."

Argyle threw his arms up in frustration. "Wake up! This is the _Wasteland_. The WASTE-land! It's kill or be killed out here!"

"I would rather sacrifice myself than to take another life anyway." Dashwood said softly. Argyle was finally starting to figure it out. Dashwood was naive - he never had to face a threatening life-or-death situation, where any mistake would've meant meeting his end. He never experienced significant loss, if any loss at all, up in that lofty tower. He never had to make any major decision that would affect the course of his future after that certain point. His life was static, void, and pointless - hence why he craved the adventure and the dynamic yet tragic flow of the wastes. Pity wallowed in Argyle's heart, the more he started to understand how truly clueless and innocent Dashwood was.

"You wouldn't survive for a day out here." Argyle said cold-heartedly.

"I know." Dashwood admitted, slowly getting up to his knees, as he was still lying on the floor after Argyle had pushed him. "Had you not been here, I would've died from the first Raider attack."

Argyle twinged - was he really this man's savior? Speaking of which, Argyle recalled Dashwood taking multiple hits from the Raiders. Although he injected a Stimpak, the actual flesh wounds would take some time to heal, even if healing already occurred at the molecular level. "Can I see your wounds?" Argyle asked.

"They're fine." Dashwood blew it off. "It's no big deal."

"The blood on your shirt hasn't dried." Argyle noted. "Therefore, they're not fine."

"I hadn't even noticed." Dashwood commented. "These Stimpaks are so powerful, it's hard to remember the bleeding."

"Yeah, I know." Argyle rolled his eyes, as he was fairly experienced with the medical technology in the wastes, and how the chems were often strong enough to give the impression of well-being, even if the body was still actively dying. "Let me see them. I can help you."

"Fine, just be hasty!" Dashwood insisted, lifting up his shirt. He regretted looking down. The stab wounds were thoroughly infected, with pus forming at the edges, and fresh blood still leaking out the pores. Dashwood gagged and abruptly looked away. "Dear God, why do they look like that?"

"Let's see. You were stabbed in the chest and abdomen by a deranged psychopath with a dull rusted knife. I wonder why they look like this?" Argyle's sarcasm came back into play.

"Please help me." Dashwood pleaded.

"I already said I was going to." Argyle grumbled. "Sorry that my hands aren't the cleanest." Argyle held out his skeletal hands, where flesh barely clung on, and delicate white tendons were exposed to the air. Dashwood kept cringing, to the point he couldn't keep his eyes open for the duration of whatever Argyle was going to do to him. Dashwood felt a light nudge in the middle of his chest, at the sternum, and without the visual, he felt as if an itch was being scratched. What he didn't know was that Argyle was gently picking off the infected pus, with such meticulous care that no pain was sensed.

Argyle seemed to be very handy with medical supplies. He pulled a few cotton balls out, and used them to remove as much blood and pus as possible from the wound site. Argyle counted twelve stab wounds total, but thankfully, they were rather small slits. If the infection was gone, they would heal up in no time at all. "Okay, sir, please don't be too concerned with what I'm about to do next." Argyle warned. "It may feel strange, but I assure you, it's for your well-being."

Dashwood was thoroughly warned, but he still didn't prepare for what he felt next. A wet, slimy coating was being applied over the cleaned stab wounds. The surface of the object was rather soft, yet firm. "What is that?" Dashwood panicked. He opened one eye and caught a glimpse of Argyle's head leaning far too close for comfort. "Are you licking!?"

"I told you to not be concerned." Argyle repeated, wiping his mouth. "If you know a thing or two about medicine, you'd know that saliva is a coagulating agent. In simpleton terms, it clots blood. In even more simple terms, it heals wounds. Haven't you ever seen an animal lick their wounds?"

"I-I have!" Dashwood gulped nervously. "But that's an animal behavior! Humans don't - Oh God, I don't know about Ghouls. I didn't think they..."

"Shut up." Argyle's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a Ghoul thing. It's a logical thing. You don't have to worry, I'm not feral, and my spit isn't radioactive, believe it or not." He folded his arms. He was quite offended at Dashwood's constant implications, that because he was a Ghoul, somehow he was totally different than a human being.

"I'm sorry." Dashwood apologized. "I don't know that much about Ghouls, but I must admit, my wounds feel much better. Thank you."

Argyle lowered his gaze, and pulled Dashwood's shirt back over to cover the wound sites. "You're welcome."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A rather gruesome chapter, but gore tends to arrive in a Fallout package. I wanted to contrast Dashwood's personality with Argyle's, and show how they're polar opposites of each other, especially at first. Dashwood is naive, inexperienced, and longing for the adventurous life he never had. Argyle is mature, self-sufficient, and eager to settle down after a rough life in the Wasteland. However, Dashwood does incite that youthful feeling that Argyle lost a century ago. Also, the more medical knowledge you know, the better. Thanks for the read!


	4. Tenpenny Trial

**Introductory Author's Note:** This is in a continuous episodic fashion. I'm planning to make it much more scripted once the actual adventures start happening. Midway through this chapter, the episodic layout will start to be maintained. However, I will be shaking it up, so that the format doesn't become repetitive and predictable. That way, readers can always find something new to look forward to. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** The Fallout franchise belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

* * *

**Chapter 4:  
**Tenpenny Trial

"I feel brand-new again!" Dashwood said, stretching out his back. "It's as if the wounds aren't there at all!"

"Yeah, that would be the married couple of the Stimpak and my meticulous wound care." Argyle got up, brushing the sand off his dusty ripped jeans.

The desolate landscape ahead of them didn't stretch too far before being blotted out by the magnificent Tenpenny Tower. Like a beacon in the void, it was magnificent, and it reflected in the tainted sunlight as if it was shining. Dashwood had a strong sense of pride regarding his home. He held his chest high, and his confidence seemed to peak the closer they got to it. Argyle had the opposite reaction. For reasons he didn't understand, he grew increasingly wary and uneasy. Something felt off - he was experiencing the same vibes that he would get before an ambush.

"You sure this place is safe?" Argyle asked precariously.

"Are you joking?" Dashwood beamed, turning to face Argyle to further exhibit his unabated conviction. "Tenpenny Tower is the most safe, secure, and beautiful place in the Wasteland. It's been here since before the War, and it will be here for generations to come. It's also the happiest place of all."

"How many people even live there?" Argyle rose an eyebrow.

"Plenty!" Dashwood replied. "As much as the Tower can hold."

"Once again." Argyle breathed somewhat impatiently. "How many?"

"Oh, I don't know for certain..." Dashwood seemed nervous. "I would estimate about thirty."

Argyle silently contemplated that small number. "Do you see how large that Tower is?"

"Obviously, I have eyes, dear Argyle." Dashwood laughed. "What of it?"

"How many people could actually live there, considering all the floors?" Argyle pressed, his eyes hardened with caution.

"Frankly, I don't know." Dashwood answered. "Why are you putting so much thought into an insignificant detail?"

"Hey, I've been living in the Wasteland a long time." Argyle retaliated. "It's the subtle details that drop the biggest clues. If that Tower has twenty plus floors, and plenty of rooms to go around, why are so few filled? Hmm? Think really hard about this." Argyle poked the edge of his skull, around his temple, as an over-exaggerated gesture of thoughtful reflection. Even though it was too soon to tell, Argyle blurted out what was bothering him nonetheless. "It's mostly empty because they don't trust strangers. They're only kind to their own."

"Nonsense!" Dashwood ignored the warning. "Tenpenny Tower is the most friendly place in the Wasteland. It's the most trusting as well!"

"Okay, beyond the meaningless propaganda..." Argyle refuted by ignoring Dashwood's statements. "... I think they won't be so welcoming to strangers. Namely, myself."

"You worry too much." Dashwood stated. "Look. They will be surprised that you're a Ghoul. Currently there aren't any Ghouls living in Tenpenny Tower. They're used to people who have skin on them, so they might acquaint your appearance with shock. It's nothing personal - they're just not used to it! Don't judge them so prematurely." He insisted, almost in a pleading tone.

Argyle sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll get relatively close, but when they start shooting at me, I'll say that I told you so."

"I'm a man of my word." Dashwood held his chest high. "If I say they won't shoot, then they won't shoot."

Regardless of his constant reassurance, Argyle felt uneasiness stir in the core of his chest. It felt like there were eyes in the dead vegetation, specifically locked on to him, watching. Entering elitist territory, anyone who could be identified as a minority was threatened. In this post-apocalyptic world especially, Argyle knew that these already uptight folks would be even more-so, due to the pressured situation they were in. It was either kindness, so that the Raiders and Super-Mutants would have overrun Tenpenny Tower long ago, or it was selective cruelty, so that only elite non-mutated human beings could band together and fight against the mutants. What a sad philosophy to adopt, Argyle thought to himself.

They silently approached the large metal gate. Dashwood nervously pressed the button on an intercom and spoke into the speaker. "Hello, Guard? It's me, Hebert Daring Dashwood." He had to use his full name, probably as an attempt to impress his ally on how well-connected he was. Argyle merely replied with an indifferent shrug.

"Who's with you?" The voice on the other end asked, with too much apathy to not be suspicious. Argyle shivered at this tone - he hated that tone.

"My manservant." Dashwood casually replied. "He's with me, so you need not worry."

"What don't you comprehend about Tenpenny policy?" The voice was much harsher now. It even caused Dashwood to fumble his vocabulary, to the point he wasn't quite sure what to say next. Argyle took several steps backward, instinctively holding his hands up, not yet surrendering but definitely ready to whip his weapons out if he needed them - his weapons being his bare fists.

"I beg pardon?" Dashwood blinked. "I wasn't aware that Tenpenny had a policy."

A mocking laughter erupted from the other side of the intercom. In a scoffing tone, the guard said, "No mutants are allowed entry. Especially Ghouls."

Dashwood didn't even want to turn around. Argyle was already mouthing, "I told you so." Dashwood didn't even want to see him, because it meant admitting defeat. It meant that Argyle was right, and he was wrong. Oh dear, we wouldn't be having that, would we?

"Can he wait outside for me, then?" Dashwood asked politely. "He's completely fine. He isn't feral, I made sure of that. If he ever is, I'll put him down."

"Hey." Argyle snapped under his breath. "Watch your mouth." Argyle didn't even know this guy very well, and he wouldn't give a second thought to defend himself should he be attacked. This half-witted, unprepared adventurer couldn't stand a chance if the ghoul was truly his enemy. His neck would be snapped in two seconds flat. Dashwood, not realizing the true risks of the situation, seemed to think that diplomacy would resolve all of the Wasteland's problems. If only he realized how naive that logic was.

Apparently Dashwood was deaf to Argyle's back-talk, because he continued talking to the guard. "I'll be watching him. He's my responsibility entirely. I just need to grab some things from my suite, and I'll be on my merry way. Does that sound good, my dear fellows?"

"I don't like this." Argyle whispered, taking further steps back. He shuffled backwards, and soon, he began a galloping run away from the Tower. His ghoul instincts were begging him to leave the scene, even though he wasn't consciously aware of what particular danger lurked around Tenpenny. His fears were affirmed with the deafening crackle of a sniper's shot whistled through the dead air. He barely missed. That long, sharp bullet hit the miniscule sand dune in front of him. It occurred to Argyle that they were specifically trying to shoot him in the head with a fatal shot.

Dashwood made senseless pleas to try to stop the violence from erupting, but it was too late either way. Tenpenny was hostile to ghouls, and the fact that one was tagging along with a clueless resident meant that they probably suspected something suspicious. Dashwood never brought home pets. Argyle scoffed at the notion of being referred to as an animal by Dashwood - the way he spoke about him just seemed really condescending. Argyle didn't like that one bit, yet what was he to do? He was part of the disadvantaged lower social class, just for being a genetic abomination.

What nobody expected was a sophisticated white man's brawl, Tenpenny's finest marksmen against a sole Ghoul. Multiple guards flooded through the gates, with small guns in hand, prepared to take down the perceived threat. Dashwood couldn't even attempt to rescue his manservant - they had _guns_! Dashwood went through the mental process of a tearful good-bye to his brief partner in crime. This was the end - but not if Argyle could stop it.

At first, it was hard to watch as these merciless guards pelted dozens of bullets into Argyle, despite full acknowledgement that they were up against an unarmed person. Although Argyle's Ghoul status probably demoted him from authentic personhood a long time ago. Argyle took those bullets bravely, as they showered into his shoulders, arms, and chest. Dark red blood splattered where they landed. Argyle weakly staggered back, his skeletal frame barely capable of holding himself upright against that much force. His face cringed with pain, his eyes tightly squinted, and his teeth clenched. He didn't make a single sound, but the expression was nearly unbearable to watch.

When those bullets didn't bring him to his knees, Argyle knew he had to take out at least one gun, or he would succumb to his injuries. Immense pain shot across his entire upper body, but he fought as if no bullets were lodged in his flesh. He held out four fingers, and with a single swipe, he made a strong cut that managed to sever the jaw off one of the guards. Argyle nearly gagged from the amount of blood that kill produced. Trying not to think, he side-swiped another guard by dislocating his knee, and another strong blow resulted in a near-fatal leg fracture, also resulting in copious amounts of blood. Argyle had grown accustomed to the sight, smell, and consistency of blood, but what was especially unnerving today was how many people he was up against, and how much killing he had to endure. He was used to taking down maybe three or four people, not a miniature army. The bloodshed made him sick to his stomach.

After many thoughtless physical blows, Argyle looked up and saw corpses littered all around him. He looked down at his bloodied hands, shivering from how many lives he had to take in self-defense. It was too many this early in the afternoon. He gagged again, but soon regained his composure. It came to his attention that some of the nausea he was experiencing was due to a particular bullet that landed dangerously close to the pyloric sphincter, the biological valve that connected his stomach and small intestine.

"They're all dead..." Dashwood finally said, aghast at the sight of butchered corpses surrounding Argyle.

"They..." Argyle said drowsily, trying to not lose consciousness. "They attacked me..."

"My God, you don't look well at all." Dashwood said, walking over the bodies of the fallen to reach his manservant. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Argyle lied, trying not to lose his bearings. He preferred food, no matter how irradiated, to stay down.

"If we don't remove these bullets, you'll catch an infection." Dashwood said. Although it seemed like he had medical knowledge, he was truly just recalling how his own knife wounds got infected. He pieced the puzzle together, and realized the same would happen to his companion.

"I know..." Argyle said weakly. "Before we do that... Quick..." Argyle got to his knees, but soon fell forward and collapsed. He was trying to reach something on the nearest adjacent corpse, but his arm couldn't bend that far at the moment, due to three solid bullets blocking his free-ranged movement. "Can... Can you... Give me that gun?" He asked softly.

"Certainly." Dashwood said, his voice heavy with sympathy. He bent over and picked up a simple small gun. He didn't know what exactly it was, but he handed it to Argyle.

"This gun..." Argyle croaked. "You gotta know... how to use it..."

"You're trying to teach me about weaponry in this state!?" Dashwood asked, his mouth agape.

"Yeah..." Argyle coughed tiredly. "Because you need it... you damn fool..." Dashwood tried to open his mouth to argue, but Argyle silenced him. "Shut up... Watch closely... Repeat after me..." Argyle delicately held the small gun in his trembling skeletal hands. "This is... a ten millimeter pistol..." With flawless expertise, he pulled out the used clip, and reloaded the gun effortlessly with a new round of bullets. "Make sure it's loaded... safety's off..." Argyle groggily demonstrated. "And... shoot." He pulled the trigger softly, and with a loud bang, the bullet whizzed by them. Argyle held his limp hand out, nudging the weapon closer. "You try it..."

"I..." Dashwood stared at the .10 mm pistol. "I can't."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Cliffhanger! I really liked the feeling that I got playing Fallout 3, that realization that when I left Vault 101, I wouldn't be able to return to it ever again. (Although I heard there's a quest you can do to get back inside, but I've never successfully returned.) I wanted to hint towards that idea, that Dashwood may have prematurely left Tenpenny Tower, but now there's no going back. They will always be hostile to him, because now he is an outsider, and he no longer lives there. I'm going to delve more on those details. In this chapter, I just wanted to focus on the action. That will impress some, and disappoint others. That's the risks of writing. More character development to ensue. Thanks for the read!


End file.
